The Day We Met
by Spark Writer
Summary: Hi! Each chapter is a 100 word drabble that tells of John and Sherlock's fantastic friendship and adventures from the day the meet, until the day they are parted. Review!
1. At the Beginning

**Hello! Beginning at John and Sherlock's first meet, I'll try to tell their story through an approx. 100 word drabble per chapter. I'm someone who loves long pieces, so this is difficult for me, but I'm having a blast! Enjoy! Requests ARE taken. Heck, requests are ASKED for. =D**

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I can tell he is exceedingly tall, even bent over his microscope.

Although I'm not particularly intuitive, I can sense the cryptic nature of this man; so intent on his work—not even acknowledging my presence.

Is this whom Mike was referring to?

I shift my weight, gripping my cane so hard my knuckles ache.

The dark haired man flicks his gaze up and straight at me. He observes me; calculating, shrewd, cool…

I get the sense he unnerves quite a few people with this stare.

It doesn't faze me.

Is that some sort of augury?

I don't even know his name.

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**Reviews are _adored! _**

**-Spark Writer-  
**


	2. 221B Baker Street

**Here it is!**

* * *

I'm perusing the newspaper when he speaks.

"You're a doctor."

He pulls on gloves. "In fact, you're an Army doctor."

I struggle up from my seat, clutching my cane. "Yes."

"Any good?"

I set my jaw in one line. Fierce. "Very good."

He waits for a moment. "Seen a lot of injuries, then? Violent deaths?"

I nod. "Oh, yes."

"A lot of trouble, too, I bet."

I look straight into his eyes. "Of course. Yes. Enough for a lifetime—far too much."

Sherlock assesses me. "Want to see some more?"

"Oh, God, yes."

This: equivalent of our own big bang.

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**Shine on!**

**-Spark writer-  
**


	3. A Study in Pink

**Enjoy!**

* * *

There is a body on the floor.

She is clad in pink; sprawled face down.

I glance at Sherlock. The consulting detective is in his element—he turns down the woman's collar, inspects her wedding band, stares at a crude scratching in the floor: Rache.

Anderson speaks from the doorway. "The German word for revenge is 'rache.' She could be trying to tell us—"

"Yes, thank you for your input," says Sherlock, promptly slamming the door in Anderson's face.

Lestrade glances furtively at Sherlock. I notice he doesn't visibly object.

I grin, look away. We all know Anderson's dense. Sherlock Holmes is the only one who's comfortable making that fact obvious.

Already, he's back to speculating.

I take that back—

Sherlock does not speculate…

He uncovers.

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**Please review and tell me what you think!**

**-Spark Writer-  
**


	4. It's All Fine

**This chapter had to go a bit longer due to the effortless chemistry of this lovely conversation.**

* * *

Our server thinks I'm Sherlock's date.

He's winking at me.

Rubbish.

"What do real people have?" Sherlock asks me. "In their real lives?"

I rest my chin in my palm. "Friends. People they know. People they like, people they don't like. Girlfriends…boyfriends."

Sherlock gives an impatient headshake. "Dull."

"You don't have a girlfriend, then?"

A pause.

"Girlfriend, no. Not really my area."

I flick my gaze up. "Alright. D'you have a…boyfriend?"

He falters and I add, "Which is fine, by the way—"

"I know it's fine," Sherlock interrupts.

I wait. "So you've got a boyfriend?"

"No."

"Right, okay." I chuckle, seeing his apparent dismay. "You're unattached. Like me."

Sherlock stiffens, his eyes narrow. He's thinking. "John, um, I think you should know that I consider myself married to my work, and while I'm flattered by your interest—"

I end his monologue. "No. No, I'm not asking—no."

I force myself to mirror his stare. "I'm just saying, it's _all _fine."

Something flashes across the detective's face, instantaneous, fleeting. Could it possibly have been—emotion?

Nah.

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**REVIEW!**

**-Spark Writer-  
**


	5. The Search

**Melodrama!**

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Heart pounding. Weak leg aching.

I run, stop, run, peering through each door's spherical window. Where is he?

Something's not right. The feeling pulls me under; I choke on fear.

What if he's hurt? Dead?

…Jesus.

I bang through doors, sprint to a window.

Glance at the building opposite.

My god. _Sherlock._

And I see the cab driver, see him standing, taunting. I see his gun.

I aim my own. Pull. My hand is stiller than it's ever been.

Shoot.

The bullet slices as cleanly through the window as it does into the cabbie's chest.

I'm gone before he hits the floor.

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**...What John will do for Sherlock. =D**

**-Spark Writer-  
**


	6. Alright

**Read well!**

* * *

"Are you alright?"

I nod. "Yes, 'course I'm alright."

Sherlock lowers his chin. "You have just killed a man."

"Yes, I…" I trail away.

Brief staring match.

"That's true." I say. "_But, _he wasn't a very nice man."

Sherlock smiles appraisingly. "No," he agrees. "No, he wasn't really, was he."

I feign solemnity. "Frankly, a bloody awful cabbie."

Sherlock laughs. "True, he was a bad cabbie." He strides away.

I follow.

"Should have seen the route he took us." Sherlock grins wickedly.

I hold back the laughter. "We can't giggle at a crime scene, stop it!"

"You were the one who shot him, not me—"

"Keep your voice down!"

Sherlock glances around. "Sorry, it's just the, uh, _nerves _talking."

Half-consciously, I wonder: how did I ever become so fond of a sociopath?

Figures.

* * *

**Well? How did it go down?**

**-Spark Writer-  
**


	7. The Blind Banker

**First off, this takes place around the beginning of "The Blind Banker," when Sherlock and John make an appearance at the Bank of London. I'm having so much fun with these! Keep in mind, the point of these drabbles is not to follow each case, but rather to polish every Sherlock and John friendship moment to a brilliant shine. Thank you!**

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I don't know what made me say it.

I probably just crushed something with the likeness of a butterfly.

"This is my _friend, _John Watson," Sherlock had said.

Sebastian had smirked. "Friend?"

"Colleague," I'd said.

I'm an idiot.

Sherlock goes utterly still; Sebastian takes no notice of our awkward pause, always effervescent.

I purse my lips, and turn away. Sherlock blinks rather rapidly for a moment.

I see it return; the old calculating coolness swallows his brief upset.

Which leaves me with a question.

He thinks of me as his friend, then?

I believe he does.

Ah.

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**Review?**

**-Spark Writer-  
**


	8. Massive Intellect

**Yes, I realise this is short, but it certainly packs a punch!**

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Sherlock Holmes is a total idiot.

There. I said it.

I've been reduced to yelling abuse through the mail slot in Su Lin Yao's door.

Jesus, he won't let me in!

"Anytime you want to include me…"

Silence.

I shake my head, and turn to face the street. "_No, _I'm Sherlock Holmes and I always work alone because no one else can compete with my _massive_ _intellect_!"

I bellow the last two words into the mail slot.

Git.

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**Reviews are always welcome!**

**-Spark Writer-  
**


	9. Solar System

**This is a somewhat humorous scene; the more emotional stuff is yet to come. **

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"Did you like it?" I ask this with a level of trepidation.

All I really want is Sherlock's consent.

He's wrapped in his paper. "Ummmm…_no!" _

"Why not?" I blink. "I thought you'd be flattered."

"Flattered? Sherlock sees through everything and everyone in seconds, what's incredible, though, is how spectacularly ignorant he is about some things."

I wince. "Now, hang on a minute. I didn't mean that—"

"Oh, you meant 'spectacularly ignorant' in a _nice _way—look, it doesn't matter to me who's prime minister or who's sleeping with who—"

"Or that the earth goes around the sun," I offer sardonically.

"Oh, not that again," Sherlock mutters. "It's not important!"

Those bloody grey eyes are swallowing me.

I struggle to reply. "Not important? It's primary school stuff, _how _can you not know that?"

He sits up from the couch, eyes blazing. "If I did, I deleted it."

"What—deleted it?"

"Listen!" He pokes his temple. "This is my hard drive, and it only makes sense to put things in there that are useful, _really_ useful. Ordinary people fill their heads with all kinds of rubbish, and that makes it hard to get at the stuff that matters, do you see?"

I don't see.

"But it's the _solar system!_"

"What does that _matter_? If we went round the moon or the sun, or 'round and round the garden like a teddy bear,' it wouldn't make any difference! All that matters to me is the work!"

I'll say it again, he's a prat.

"Without that," growls Sherlock, "my brain rots. Put that in your blog—or better still, stop inflicting your opinions on the world."

He curls into a ball, facing away. My heart twinges. I get up, fling on my jacket.

"Where are you going?" calls Sherlock.

It's really none of his business.

"Out. I need some air."

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**I won't even ask...**

**-Spark Writer-  
**


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